The Scars You Leave
by misfitlove11
Summary: Gendry and Arya reunite after the Battle of Winterfell. Kinda slotted in an extra scene between S8 EP3 and S8 EP4. I wrote this on my phone and I don't know why. I JUST LOVE THEM OKAY? (explicit sexual content)


The Night King's form shattered to pieces with the final thrust of her dagger. The cold talons that had clutched her neck crumbled as she heard the rest of the dead behind her follow suit. Eerie silence swallowed the atmosphere as disbelief and exhaustion gnawed at her bones. She briefly met the emotionless eyes of Bran before her knees buckled underneath her.

The tears prickled as the urge to weep came over her. Relief and dread swam through her body. Her vision became blurred but not from tears. Wave after wave of exhaustion crashed over her head, pummeling her body like cragged rocks on a seabed. The overwhelming force pulled her body to the snow covered ground, her back now against the wet cold surface. Her eyes grew heavy, until eventually the stars above became absorbed by the darkness that flooded her senses. She let the abyss take her, drowning in the numbness that her body desperately craved.

~

Jon rushed to Bran before halting, seeing Arya's crumpled form in the snow.

A deep gash above her left eyebrow dripped scarlett fluid onto the white snow next to her. Her right cheekbone was bruised, blood and dirt scattered across her skin along with many deep purple bruises.

"Do not fear, she's very much alive."

Jon's wide but tired eyes focused on Bran. "What happened-"

"Arya has slain the Night King."

~

Jon carried an unconscious Arya in his arms as Bravos wheeled Bran behind him.

"I've never seen anyone fight the way she did", Bravos mumbled.

Jon looked down at the closed eyes of his baby sister. The woman she'd grown into, the warrior she'd been forced to become.

"Aye", Jon whispered more to himself than Bravos, pride filling his chest.

He carried her through the rubble and slain, the dead already rotting.

~

Brienne's words fell on deaf ears when Gendry spotted a small figure in the arms of Jon Snow.

"No...", he whispered, his eyes never leaving her unmoving body.

Brienne paused to follow his eyeline.

"Arya..", she gasped.

He bolted towards Jon, not looking back. He heard the footsteps behind him, saw the sun just peaking over the horizon, smelt the rot and decay scattered across the ground, but none of it meant anything. Not with Arya dead.

Jon paused his trudging as Gendry and the others ran to him.

Gendry halted in front of Jon, Arya a mere inches away from his touch. Her armour concealed any injuries she might have had below her shoulders, but her face was battered and bruised. Blood, dirt and snow caked her skin and hair. He couldn't tell if she was breathing, the sky was still too dark to illuminate his surroundings. Tears stung his eyes.

Brienne began to ask the question that Gendry could never have the courage to utter. "Oh god, is she-?"

"No, she's just unconscious. Exhaustion seems to have temporarily taken her, but I still want to check her for serious wounds. I'm taking her to her chambers."

Gendry nearly fainted with relief. His Arya wasn't dead.

"My Lord, the whole Eastern section of the castle has been obliterated. The entire Stark quarters is in shambles", Brienne uttered.

Gendry didn't even think before chiming in."You can treat her in the blacksmith chambers for now, it's just there." Gendry pointed towards the blacksmith quarters a few meters away, the building still perfectly intact.

Gendry hoped Jon didn't think anything of his offer, because right now all he was thinking about was Arya. Luckily, a battle worn Jon didn't even flinch. He made his way over as Gendry attempted to move the dead out of his pathway. Next to the forge, he led Jon into his small but comfortable room.

Jon laid her weakened body gently on the bed.

~

Before coming to Winterfell, Gendry had never known what it was like to even have his own bed, much less his own chambers. Now, he leaned against a half crumbled wall as he watched dozens of people rush in and out of them in a daze.

After Jon had assessed that Arya had no serious or life threatening injuries, Sansa and a few other women had come in to clean her wounds. He waited as patiently as he could outside his room, leaning against the cold brick. Tormund, Brienne and Podrick had come over once or twice to check in, asking if he had any wounds of his own that needed tending too. He shrugged them off, not caring about his own body. As they left, they each gave his shoulder a squeeze. The Hound eventually trudged over to his perch.

"How is she?", he asked, his voice full of gravel.

"Okay I think. Her sister is in there with her."

The Hound gave a curt nod before lingering a moment longer. He finally looked Gendry in the eye.

"You know she's the one who took down the cold dead bastard?"

Gendry's eyes widened, straightening his spine against the wall.

"Well, now you do", the Hound mumbled gruffly before leaving him alone.

Eventually, Gendry's hands began to itch. Unable to sit/stand still any longer, he began cleaning up the rubble and debris around the blacksmith's quarters, clearing the way for others. Discarding the lifeless bones of white walkers was a challenge as they all but disintegrated in his hands.

Hours later, Sansa and the other women finally came out of his chambers.

"How is she?"

"Resting. We bathed and dressed her wounds. It's just up to her when she wants to wake up."

He nodded as he noted that the filthy garments Arya was wearing before were now folded up in Sansa's arms. Her eyes were hollow and sunken, like she needed a year of sleep herself.

"You look exhausted. Why don't you go rest like the others? I can watch over Arya."

Sansa looked him up and down, observing him like a protective sister should.

He raised his arms in surrender. "Hey, I would never-"

Sansa interrupted, her skeptical expression breaking into a tired smile.

"After everything you've done for the North Gendry, I trust you wholeheartedly. Besides, Arya can more than take care of herself." She gave him a wink and a pat on the shoulder before making her way towards the great hall.

After a breath, he snuck into his room, closing the door quietly behind him. He turned to a still unconscious Arya, who looked so tiny in comparison to his large wooden bed. The blood and dirt was gone from her face, now just an angry closed gashed poised over her brow. Her dark chocolate hair had been brushed and fanned out either side of her head, making her appear more feminine than he was sure she would be comfortable with.

Sansa had replaced her armour and previous garments with what appeared to be a white long sleeved night gown made of lace and silk. He assumed it belonged to Sansa as he couldn't see Arya ever picking that out for herself in any lifetime. The gown also seemed too big for her, as the sleeves fell down past her shoulders, leaving her neck and collarbone bare. The ensemble made her appear angelic.

Gendry sat down in a rickety chair in the corner of the room, careful not to make a sound. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, convincing himself that she would be okay.

He suddenly leaned over, seeing angry red claw marks around her throat, looking stark against her lily white skin.

"You know she's the one who took down the cold dead bastard?"

The Hound's words echoed in his head. Both anger and disbelief swirled beneath his veins. The fact that that monster's hands were clasped around her throat made his stomach feel like it was full of led. He sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and tried to breath.

~

Arya awoke to a throbbing ache throughout her entire body. The spot above her eyebrow stung and her cheekbone felt like someone had pounded on it from inside her skin. Her arms, ribs and legs were stiff and sore.

She slowly opened one eye. It was night. The soft light of a lantern had been lit and left on the bedside table next to her. She looked down to find herself in a large comfortable bed that wasn't her own. She nearly blanched in horror.

She slowly lifted her arm out from under the blanket that was half covering her. An oversized white lace sleeve hung delicately off her frame. Her torso was clothed in a bodice made of the same material which flowed all the way down to her feet. She was dressed in one of Sansa's night gowns.

"I'm gonna kill her", she whispered to herself.

A muffled mumble drew her attention to the corner of the room.

Gendry sat asleep in an old wooden chair, his neck bent at an awkward angle. He was covered in dried blood and dirt, his clothing torn to shreds. Cuts, scratches and bruises marred his perfect skin where there once were none.

She smiled, slowly sitting up. She let out a hiss as her back screamed in protest.

Gendry's eyes flew open. Arya was seated in his bed, trying to observe her wounds as she clutched her lower back.

"Arya."

She glanced at him, feeling her smile return despite her discomfort.

"Gendry."

He slowly rose out of the uncomfortable chair and made his way over to her, seating himself at the end of the bed at her feet.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. You don't look so good."

He looked down at his unbathed body clothed in torn rags.

He smirked while meeting her eyes again.

"I've looked worse."

She laughed before pressing a hand to her ribs, stopping herself as she winced in pain.

He quickly leapt up.

"What am I thinking? I'll go get Jon and Sansa."

She grabbed his hand before he could leave.

"Don't! Leave them be. They're probably sleeping. Besides, I just want to be here with you right now."

He faltered before sitting back down, stroking her hand.

They sat like that for a while. Basking in each other's presence, eyes never leaving the others'.

"You're alive", she whispered, tracing the lines of his calloused palms with her fingers.

"So are you."

She smirked. "Of course I am."

"You had me scared for a moment there."

She shrugged, eyes still focused on his hands. "I think every girl would need a nap after defeating an undead warlord."

He didn't laugh.

He faintly drew invisible circles onto her wrist with his fingertips. He mentally noted that her wrist was so small that he could fit his thumb and forefinger around it several times. Yet she was far from fragile. She was stronger than he could ever hope to be.

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "What was it like?", he whispered.

A sigh escaped her dry lips, the taste of ash corroded her mouth. "I don't know. He was there and then he wasn't. It's all kind of a blur", she lied.

He didn't press any further. She'd reveal more when she was ready.

"Seriously though, you look awful", she said, changing the subject.

He raised an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth twitched. "Have you seen yourself?"

She looked down at her ridiculously thin and feminine garment, cheeks growing aflame.

"You're right, we're both retched."

He twirled the string at her bodice that lay just above her breasts. "I don't know, I kinda like it", he uttered, voice low.

She hit him softly in the arm, making him laugh.

"It's not funny. I look ridiculous."

She suddenly pulled the covers back and stood from the bed, wobbling a little before finding her balance.

He rose with her.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be resting."

"I've been doing that all day. Right now I need to bathe, and so do you."

She took a step towards the door before she got the shakes again. He put an arm around her and under her shoulder.

"At least lean on me ya git."

She sighed before using him as support.

They left his room and used a few of her secret twists and turns to find the hot spring baths. Her secret pathways were away from prying eyes, if there even was any. Most people appeared to be sleeping, hunkered down in their quarters or the great hall.

The night was quiet, and most of the dead had been cleared away, placed on funeral pyres for tomorrow's burning outside of the walls of Winterfell.

Arya shivered all the way to the baths, from the chill in the air and the memories of battle.

Once at the baths, he let her go when he was sure she was steady. She dropped the loose almost sheer nightgown to her feet, revealing her bare flesh to him. He silenced the gasp of horror that nearly escaped his mouth.

Along with the wine coloured scars that had already been wrapped around her ribs were now giant purple bruises. Gashes, scrapes and scratches also covered her arms and legs. Before he could inspect her further, she slowly sunk into the hot spring bath, her face relaxing with relief as the water eased her sore muscles.

She looked up at him expectedly. "Aren't you coming in?"

He removed his torn clothing in a rush before following her.

"Gendry, you haven't had your wounds attended to! The gashes on your legs look deep."

"Oh, so you were looking at my legs were you?"

"Gendry-"

He silenced her with a chaste kiss, tenderly wrapping his arms around her upper torso.

He pulled away abruptly, leaving her panting. He pressed his forehead against hers.

"Wash me", he breathed.

She grabbed a rag and soaked it with water before moving it over his chest. She rubbed slow circles over his skin as the dirt and debris flaked off.

"As soon as we get out I'm checking your wounds", she mumbled.

"As m'Lady commands."

A look of venom saturated her soft features.

He gave her a wink before she rolled her eyes and turned him around, lightly scrubbing at his back.

The large expanse of skin was covered in grazes and lacerations, some deeper than others. The angry red and purple welts made her heart ache. He stayed silent through her soft sweeps of the rag, but he wasn't fooling her. Each time she made contact with a particularly nasty wound, the muscles in his back would grow rigid, tight and unrelenting.

She swallowed the emotion that was thick in her throat.

"Okay, you're done."

He gingerly turned to face her again.

"Your turn."

She let him wash her, painfully gentle over her own injuries. She watched his face grow more and more concerned as he continued to explore.

She grabbed a hold of his chin, making his eyes meet hers.

"Hey, we're both still here."

He snorted. "Of course you are. Your body is a weapon."

Her uninjured eyebrow flickered as her teeth sank softly into her bottom lip.

"Is that all my body is to you?", she asked, her voice low.

Gendry's eyes darkened, his wide palm pulling her to him by the small of her back.

He let his lips caress the shell of her ear as his breath fell in hot, steady pants against her cheek.

"What do you think?", he whispered.

She pulled back slightly to meet his eyes again. She feigned innocence, making her eyes wide and nibbling at her lip.

"I wouldn't know, I guess you'll have to show me."

A guttural growl vibrated from his throat as he pressed his forehead against hers.

She felt the beating of his heart against her own, only separated by a wall of blood, flesh and muscle.

"I can't. Not when you're bruised, battered and fresh from the battle of our lives. You need rest."

"I am rested."

"And you need more. You need to let your body heal."

She threw her head back in frustration before a nagging thought came to her.

"Of course, you're right. We do need to heal. Especially you."

She climbed out of the hot spring, tugging him behind her by the hand.

She dried herself off before begrudgingly putting Sansa's nightgown back on.

She turned to Gendry stumbling to put his torn breeches back on. An easy smile spread across her face. While he was distracted, she gave him a little shove, making him fall backwards onto a wooden bench. He glanced up at her questionly, pants still halfway up his legs.

"Isn't this familiar..", he smirked.

She approached him slowly before dropping to her knees in front of him. She slowly dragged his breeches down his legs before discarded them beside her.

Heat rose to the skin of his cheeks. "Arya, what are you-"

"Shh."

She stroked her hand lightly up his calf towards his thigh.

"I thought we were going to rest."

She glanced up at him and his already hard length with a challenging eyebrow.

"I'm checking your wounds Gendry. Not my fault your body thinks otherwise.."

He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head against the wall, slightly embarrassed his body was betraying him.

Bemused, she shook her head before proceeding with her inspection. A deep gash in his inner thigh was red raw and seething.

"This doesn't need stitching up and it's already clean from the springs, but I wish you cleaned this up sooner. Less risk of infection", she mumbled more to herself.

"I'll be fine."

"Yeah well I'm checking it again tomorrow. Everything else seems to be minor."

"Good, can I put my pants back on now?"

She slid her soft hands up his muscular thighs as his abs flexed with each strained breath.

"I'm pretty sure that area is unscathed."

He stared down at her, eyes dark and full of need.

"Wouldn't hurt to check", she winked.

His length stood proud against a small tuft of brown hair at its' base. She gently placed a hand at the base, feeling the smooth shaft in her palm. A thick vein ran down the underside of the vast column.

Without a second thought, Arya dragged her tongue up against the vein and towards the tip.

Gendry's knuckles turned white as he gripped the wooden bench harshly, his head turned up towards the sky.

Her head angled towards the side, she parted her lips and drew them lightly back down the underside of his shaft, adding the softest of pressure.

Sharp pants left Gendry's lungs in bursts as he pressed his head further into the wall.

She smirked at his reaction, feeling quite empowered that she could make him feel this way. She wanted more. Wanted him to lose control just by her touch.

She detached her mouth and proceeded to pump his shaft from base to tip, adding a slight twist at the end of each movement.

"So, has anyone ever pleased you like this before?" Her voice was darkly rich, erotism coating her tongue.

"Arya..", he mewled, refusing to meet her eyes.

"You needn't lie, I won't tell."

She paused her ministrations when he didn't answer. A curt whine gnawed at the back of his throat in protest.

"Yes", he breathed.

A flare of jealously teased the corners of her heart. "Who?"

She allowed her thumb to continue to stroke featherlight circles against his dick, but it wasn't nearly enough pressure to satisfy his thirst.

His hips bucked of their own accord, seeking the delicious friction he needed to come apart. Arya pulled her hand away.

"Ah ah", she tisked.

An exasperated breath left his lungs as he gave in. "A whore in King's Landing."

She rose an eyebrow before returning her hand to its' previous task. He sighed in relief.

"Now, was that so hard?"

He scoffed before losing himself in her touch, confession forgotten.

Pulling her hand back down to the base, she pressed her tongue ever so lightly against the tip, drawing a gutteral moan from his chest. She tasted the salty dew drop that had formed at the tip, driving her to taste him further.

This time she raised herself up so her head was above his length, and lowered her mouth over his shaft, engulfing him with her warm wetness. He blanched, his hand now scoring the brick behind him, desperate to cling onto to something.

Breathing through her nose, she sheathed him from base to tip, feeling his length just touching the back of her throat. She slowly rose and fell as she engulfed him, eventually speeding up her pace while adding her hand to the mix so he was never without friction. Never without contact. Never without her touch.

"Seven hells, Arya..", he hissed through clenched teeth. The hand that had been gripping the bench moved to her hair, scooping up the tendrils that fell across her face in his fist. She relished the guidance, the slight tugs and maneuvers that he lead her with.

She moaned around his girth, the vibration making his balls tighten. His hips began moving as she fastened her pace, the ebb and flow like wild waves crashing against the shore.

As she began to rise again, she unsheathed her teeth slightly, letting them graze his shaft with the lightest of pressure.

"Fuck, Arya.."

A hoarse cry escaped his throat as stars eclipsed his vision. His body tensed all over as he fell over the edge. He crumbled into her mouth, and she took all of him.

She swallowed every drop, draining him of everything he could possibly give. She brought him down as his hips lowered back to the bench, his breaths deep and eyes closed as his bones grew languid.

"That was..", he couldn't find the right words. The sensations she made him feel were indescribable.

He finally opened his eyes and saw the ethereal beauty that was her. Still on her knees, she peered up at him threw the loose locks that framed her face. The nightgown still clinging to her forearms, revealing the creamy porcelain skin of her neck, shoulders and chest. She appeared somewhat self-concious, averting her gaze to the lace sleeves she kept toying with at her wrists.

"Was it okay?", she whispered.

"Okay? Arya, that was incredible. Otherworldly even."

She smirked, now meeting his eyes with the brazen confidence he knew lurked within.

"Good, I'm glad."

He bent forward and placed a gentle kiss on the space between her brows, her third eye. He then sprinkled kisses over her cheeks, jaw and eventually her lips.

She detached her face from his, catching her breath.

"Now we can rest."


End file.
